


La Piscine

by allthebros



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe, Blow Jobs, Fuckbuddies, M/M, Pool Sex, Reunions, Summer, Swimming Pools, lifeguard Jonathan
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-31
Updated: 2017-05-31
Packaged: 2018-11-07 11:27:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,584
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11057979
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/allthebros/pseuds/allthebros
Summary: Pat didn’t think it was possible, but if anything, Jonathan Toews has gotten hotter since Pat saw him last summer.It’s kind of a bummer that they don’t go to the same college, but Pat appreciates the surprise. He doesn’t know what’s in the water up there in Montreal, but God Bless Canada.





	La Piscine

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the [Blackhawks Summer Fic Fest 2017](http://coffeekristin.tumblr.com/post/161101119308/blackhawks-summer-fic-fest-2017). and inspired by the following one-word prompts: poolside, sunburn, swimsuit, reunions, suncreen. 
> 
> Thanks to sorrylatenew and kaneoodle for the support as well as the quick beta. Sorry for dropping fics into your laps at the last minute. You guys are the best, ilu.

 

 

 

 

This is the place of hot, bright summer days, where half the neighbourhood gathers. Of bathing suits and chlorine-scented air. Of very little shade.

This is the place of screaming children, mothers in large sunglasses, fathers with various amounts of chest hair. Of shimmering, turquoise waters, dark footprints on cement, and Coppertone-slick skin. 

This is the place where Jonny Toews works all summer, protecting all these lives with his big, strong arms like a goddamn hero.

Pat is so fucking grateful right now. Thank you for your service, sir. 

He’d learned that Jon was back from Québec the night before when Erica teased Jackie about the injury she nearly gave herself tripping over her own feet that afternoon when Jon took his shirt off. Never change, Toews, Patrick had thought, casually turning a page of the magazine he was reading on the sofa exactly two feet away from the fan—he’d won sole privilege of it that morning and it felt oh so good. 

He didn’t even worry about why his 13 year-old, basketball-playing sister was suddenly having trouble walking around guys six years older than her. Erica was old enough to talk to her now. If anything, he got it, man. Anyone at the pool that wasn’t blind or pre-pubescent _had_ to get it.

Pat peers over his magazine—yes, the same as yesterday, he likes to take his time with it, hockey is serious business—from where he’s sitting on one of the plastic chaise lounges. They arrived early to claim one of the few umbrellas for their own, dragging its heavy, cement-filled base from the corner close to the gate to a spot more or less right in front of the lifeguard chair. 

“No comment,” Pat said to Erica’s knowing look. “We’re right beside the deep end and far enough from the ladder we won’t get bothered. It’s a strategic spot.”

“Oh, it’s strategic alright,” she said. 

He didn’t think it was possible, but if anything, Jonathan Toews has gotten hotter since Pat saw him last summer.

It’s kind of a bummer that they don’t go to the same college, but Pat appreciates the surprise. He doesn’t know what’s in the water up there in Montreal, but God Bless Canada. 

From where he’s lounging in the shade he has a great view of Jon’s splayed legs—thick thighs with his tight red swimsuit all hitched up, feet resting on the foot step below. He’s got his shirt off at the moment, and there are abs there that Pat’s pretty certain weren’t last summer. The pecs are kind of new too. He’s tanned already, skin smooth and dark with the faintest sheen of sweat only visible because the sun is mercilessly bright. 

He’s so hot, Pat completely forgives him for the wide-brim fishing hat. He gets it, sunstroke is no joke. He got one when he was nine and that shit was the worst. 

The municipal pool is packed as it’s wont to be on a day like today. Pat adjusts his shades, towel beneath him shifting as he does. His shoulders feel tight where the sunburn he got a few days ago is already flaking and he curls his legs toward himself to get his toes out of the sun.

A kid runs past and sprays water over Jess and Erica as he does, but before Pat can yell at him, Jon already is.

“No running around the pool!”

Jesus fucking Christ. His voice is low and cracked like he’s shouted too much recently. Or sucked a lot of dick. Pat really doesn’t need that kind of thought when he’s surrounded by so many children.

Sun rays hit the water hard and it glints and sparkles, blue and green. There’s a little girl with a fake mermaid tail made up of pink sequins sitting in her father’s lap by the side of the pool, giggling as he dips her to the waist and brings her back up again. The sequins are iridescent in the light like the mermaids in movies (he has _three sisters_ for fuck’s sake), and Pat smiles at them. He’s a softie for that shit, he can’t help it.

When he looks away and back to his main interest, Jon’s looking back at him with a grin on his face. It would be highly inappropriate to give him the finger right now, but Pat seriously considers it. 

He raises his magazine over the smile he can feel coming.

In the corner by the diving board that no one’s really allowed to use when there are so many people in the water, there’s a group of teenagers.

“Jess,” he says. “Go push one of them in the water.” He wants to see Jonny do his thing.

“What? No!” she says from where she’s reading on her towel by his chair. 

“Pretend it’s an accident.”

“Fuck off, Pat.”

Being sixteen has really changed her. Pat does not approve.

He puts down his magazine and picks up his phone. He sends: 

“Mom wants us to pick up pork chops at the store on the way back,” Erica announces just as Jackie comes out of the water and starts towelling herself. “Dad’ll grill them tonight.”

“Fine,” Pat says. He texts, _nice hat_ , before slipping his phone in his swimsuit pocket. “Living room fan is still mine until 8PM.”

His sisters groan.

 

 

* * *

 

 

He’s not really nervous whether or not Jon’s got his message—he thinks he’s been pretty fucking clear about it, actually—but he still can’t ignore the swoop of relief when he sees Jon closing up the shed. He slips out of his flip flops and picks them up, then takes his shirt off and slings it over his shoulder.

The gate is still unlocked, so Pat opens it. It creaks loud and metallic in the night air and he stops, cringing.

Jon turns around and rolls his eyes when he sees him.

“Kane,” he says, leaning back on the shed with hands in his pockets.

“I see you got my message.”

“Might have. Or might have been just closing up. Just doing my job.”

Now it’s Pat’s turn to roll his eyes. “It took you—“ he fake-checks his wrist, “—three hours to do that?” which is the amount of time since the pool’s been closed.

“I’m thorough.”

The ‘that’s what she said’ is one the tip of his tongue, but he refrains himself. Jon seems to guess he wanted to say it, though, jaw working on a smile he can’t really hide, eyes crinkling. He licks his lips and bites the bottom one, gives Pat an obvious once over. 

Jon’s not the only one who went to the gym this year. 

“Like what you see?”

Jonny snorts, pushes himself off the shed and walks towards him, hands still in his pockets. It’s not a sexy walk. Jon would probably hurt himself if he tried to be sexy and Pat would die laughing, but he’s cut and taller than Pat and he’d be lying if he said he wasn’t into that. 

Jon veers at the last minute toward the pool, says, “I’d ask you the same thing,” looking back at Pat over his shoulder, “but I know you do,” and dives into the water. Fucking arrogant loser.

“Fucker.”

Pat drops his shirt and flip flops and phone in a heap on the patch of grass by the fence and follows him into the water where Jon’s waiting for him in the middle, smile on his face. He left the lights on in the pool and they reflect on him in pale waves. The night’s pretty quiet here, only the distant sounds of cars and the crickets. Of the water as Pat swims in large strokes to reach him. 

Jon hasn’t cut his hair in a while and it curls a little on his forehead and around his ears even with the water. Pat digs it. He dips in the water to slick his own back and re-emerges closer to Jon, feeling the sudden touch of his fingers on his side like a hot twist in his stomach.

“Hey,” Jon says with a soft smile.

“‘Sup, Toews.”

There’s a drop of water on Jon’s chin that Pat wants to lick. He wants to lick the whole pool off Jon’s skin. He bets he could taste the chlorine and sunscreen. But kids have probably peed in it the water, so that’s a bit of a turnoff.

“How was NYU?”

“Okay. How was McGill?”

“Okay.”

Even with the pool lights, and the shifting turquoise of the water over his face, Jon’s eyes are very dark and Pat feels pinned by them. He puts a hand on Jon’s shoulder.

“You spoke French up there in Canada?”

“Some.” Jon shrugs like he isn’t fucking fluent in the language and hasn’t spent his whole youth up in Québec anyway. Like he doesn’t know that Pat likes it when he speaks it. His hand flattens on Pat’s side, slides up around to his lower back, fingertips slipping into the waistband of his swim trunks. Pat lets him, brings up his own hand to the back of Jon’s neck.

“Say something, then.” He’s so close he could just tip forward a little and catch Jon’s mouth in his.

“ _Piss pas dans piscine_.”

Jon’s fingers slide in a bit more, middle one dipping between Pat’s cheeks, right at the top. He shivers even though the water’s warm and the air even warmer. Fuck. Yeah.

If he was worried they wouldn’t pick up where they left off (and he only was a little bit worried, and only because Pat didn’t pick up anyone permanent enough for the summer and he likes making his dick happy), then all worries are fucking gone. 

“I heard piss in there,” he says with a smile. “Is this one of those times where your language is super inadequate and you have to use one of our superior words?”

Jon tips his head back with a groan like he can’t fucking believe it, and pushes Pat away. Pat laughs.

“ _N’urine pas dans la piscine_ ,” Jon says, swimming away into the shallow end.

“I can tell you’ve said the same thing but properly.” 

Pat follows him and takes a moment to admire the way Jon pushes himself off the water with his hands, muscle shifting, and water sliding down his back. His swimsuit clings to his big ass. It’s bigger than before, Pat realizes. Jon’s always liked doing squats, the weirdo. God, this summer is gonna be great.

Jon sits on the edge, feet and calves in the water, and Pat swims up to him and settles himself between his legs. He could easily stand up, but he stays low. Looks up at Jon and watches him curl down over Pat a little.

“You’re weird,” he says.

“Your face is weird.”

“Your mom is weird.” 

“Don’t talk about my mom when I’m about to suck your dick, dick.”

That shuts him up right away, and Pat tries very hard not to look too smug about it.

“You are?” He says it all soft, almost surprised about it, but happy too. Like he wasn’t expecting it, or hadn’t been inches away from fingering Pat earlier. He’s all earnest and open and shit and Pat has to look away, chest going warm.

“Well I did promise, didn’t I?”

He reaches for Jon’s waistband, focuses on that instead.

“That’s right, you did.” He presses his hands flat to Pat’s skull and flattens his hair back, and Pat looks up at him, into his stupidly pretty face with its douchey smile, and dark eyes, eyelashes black and clumped with water, framed by his hair falling over his forehead.

Aaaaaaaaaand fucked.

Not totally unexpected, to be fair.

Jon ends up helping Pat taking his dick out of his swimsuit—the thing is, like, painted on him or something—laughing his dumb dorky laugh as he does, and Pat takes great pleasure in making him choke on it by leaning in fast and taking his half-hard dick into this mouth.

He remembers how Jon likes it. Feels weirdly proud of himself for it. For making Jon moan softly almost immediately. He fists the base of Jon’s dick, other hand flat on his thigh where Jon holds onto his wrist. As if Pat’s going anywhere. He likes it though, that and the soft skimming of Jon’s fingertips over Pat’s ear and cheekbone and eyebrow.

“Fuck, _ça m’a manqué_ ,” he says in a breath, last sound cut short, voice even rougher now than it was at this afternoon.

“Don’t dirty talk me in French,” Pat says, lips brushing the head of Jon’s dick as he does.

“You like it. You’ve always liked it.”

Fair.

Pat also likes sucking dick. He’s not too proud to admit it. The way he sees it, all the time he’d spend on agonizing over that fact, feeling ashamed for it, is time lost getting better at it.

Pat _really_ likes sucking Jon’s dick. The way it fills his mouth, the weight of it on his tongue. Jon’s uncut and Pat drags the foreskin up to cover the head, uses the tip of his tongue to lick in, poke at the slit, eyes fluttering closed at the tremor he feels in Jon’s thigh under his hand.

Water splashes against the wall of the pool as Pat goes back in, bobs up and down on Jon’s dick, sucking tight. Drops hit him in the face, but Jon’s thumb is there right away to wipe them off, and even though Pat isn’t watching him, he knows, just by that, that Jon is watching him. It makes his stomach swoop, then curl tight with heat and he goes harder at it, closes his eyes tight and takes Jon as far in his mouth as he can.

“Fuck!”

Boom, motherfucker.

Pat’s hard. Obviously he is. But he can’t let go of Jon to get a hand on himself right now and he doesn’t even care. Doesn’t even really want to (as long as Jon takes care of Pat’s dick after, otherwise, wow rude). 

“Gonna come,” Jon chokes over him. “Pat, I’m—You gotta—“

Nah. Pat’s gonna swallow. He’s never done that before with Jon, and he thinks that as far as surprises go, surprise jizz swallow trumps surprise pecs and abs. 

He’s only got the head in his mouth when Jon comes, curled over him with both hands linked at the back of Pat’s neck, and Pat lets it hit the roof of his mouth before swallowing, keeps sucking gently until Jon’s done and he gives a sudden jerk when Pat gives him a wide swipe of his tongue.

He pulls away. 

Jon leans back on his hands, panting, abs working and Pat looks. And looks. He takes water into his mouth and swishes it around before spitting it back out.

“Kids pee in that pool,” Jon says.

Pat flips him off and smiles when Jon laughs. The night air smells like pool water and summer heat, he’s still got Jon’s taste on his tongue, and summer’s only started.

“Hey Pat, what do you want?”

So many things. And all of them in front of him right now. 

But he’s not about to say that, plus he’s pretty sure Jon’s inquiring about Pat’s dick which, yes, is still in great need right now. 

“Come over here and find out.”

“Ugh, _niaiseux_ ,” he says, but slips back into the water.

Pat turns around, laughing, and starts swimming.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> French:
> 
> _Piss pas dans piscine_ and _N'urine pas dans la piscine_ = Don't piss/pee in the pool  
>  _Ça m'a manqué_ = I missed this  
>  _niaiseux_ = stupid/moron/fool


End file.
